


Last Year's Man

by ruric



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Community: comment_fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-02
Updated: 2009-03-02
Packaged: 2017-11-13 17:30:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruric/pseuds/ruric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellen knows it’s wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Last Year's Man

Ellen knows it’s wrong.

His arms slide around her, fingers skimming from her hips to the small of her back pressing her close. His stubble grazes her cheek, his breath hot against her skin stirring her hair. 

"I’ve missed you."

She doesn’t need his words because she can feel how much he’s missed her and how much he wants her.

His knee bumps hers, thigh sliding between her legs, walking them back into her bedroom, fingers tugging her shirt free. She should push him away, tell him no, not now, not ever again. She’d only have to say it once and he’d walk away.

But her hands are sliding over his shoulders, fisting in the softly worn material of his t-shirt as his mouth claims hers in a hungry kiss tasting of stale beer and the long road to get here. She’s kissing him back, sucking on his lower lip, needy and wanting, her hips grinding into his.

They tumble to her bed in a tangle of limbs, the weight of his body pinning her beneath him. She hooks her ankle over his calf, rocking her hips up into him, anticipation knotting her belly. The ache between her legs is closer to pain than pleasure and it brings a whimper to her lips. 

She feels him smile into their kiss, his hands stripping her shirt away even as she forgoes the pleasure of his kiss to yank the T hastily over his head, as hungry as he is to get to skin she can taste and touch.

He leans away from her and she feels bereft, lips bruised, her bare skin cold, missing the heat of his body.

His boots hit the floor as she skins out of her jeans and panties. She watches him strip the remains of his clothes and finds she’s looking for new scars, a testament to the battles they’re all fighting.

The heat of his body is back over her, her legs falling open because she’s ready and has been since he phoned to say they were on their way in. 

"You in a hurry there, Ellen?"

"Shut up, smart ass."

She growls and he laughs, because she doesn’t want soft or gentle and she doesn’t need romance, she just wants this. 

His hips slam forwards, his body driving into her, her fingers curling, nails dragging down his spine til she feels his skin catch. Laugh turning to a string of soft curses, his hands tangle in her hair, pulling her head back until her neck arches and her spine bows and now it’s her turn to laugh.

Legs tightening around his hips she rolls them until he’s beneath, fingers curling around his wrists, pressing them into the mattress. She pushes away, riding him, teasing him with the roll of her hips her body tightening around him as she pushes up and then slides back down until he’s buried deep in her. She could and has, done this until her thighs burn and until he’s begging her to finish it but that’s not what she wants tonight.

He’s grining, his eyes gone a little wild, pupils blown wide and large. His gaze moves from her eyes to her mouth and then her breasts and she feels her skin scorch and burn as sure as if he were holding a flame to her. She leans down, her breasts close to his mouth, wanting the heat of his lips and the bite of teeth. Her hair falls like a curtain around them and now she’s cursing him, his tongue teasing her nipples to an aching hardness.

His wrists slide from her grip, his hands pulling her down again and she lets him turn them until she’s beneath him again, legs tight around his hips, urging him on.

It’s been too long since she’s seen him and if this, the first time, is hasty then they’ve still got the rest of the night.

His hips slam forward and her fingers are digging into his arms deep enough to leave bruises and the tumble of words from his lips as he tips them both over the edge could be a curse or a prayer.

After he talks for a while, tells her about what’s been going on with him and Sam, his voice slowing and slurring as sleep claims him.

Curled around him she notices the differences. He’s not as broad in the shoulders as John, he’s still lean and lighter and despite everything he’s been though he doesn’t carry the weight of responsibility that John did. His father seemed to come to her to ease that burden.

Ellen knows it’s wrong. 

Dean shouldn’t be in her bed, not when his father had been here too.

She can’t help but think they’re trying to find something of the man they lost in this tangle of sheets and sweat.


End file.
